What Never Dies
by Vilandra
Summary: **Story finished** Sydney's identity is discovered by an unknown source. She and Vaughn fight to stay alive long enough to take down SD-6 once and for all, while searching for the people who know their truth.
1. Chapter One

Title: What Never Dies  
  
Author : Vilandra  
  
E-mail: sydney_bristow25@yahoo.com  
  
feedback: Yes, please, give feedback!!  It would make my day  
  
   
  
distribution: CD, everyone else please ask first.  
  
disclaimer:  Alias, and all characters, are not mine.  They are the property of ABC, Touchtone, JJ Abrams, and Bad Robot Productions.  I make no profit from this--I do it merely out of a love for the show.  The title of the story, as well as all song lyrics throughout, are the property of Sense Field.  
  
summary: Part 1/?--Sydney's identity is discovered by an unknown source.  She and Vaughn fight to stay alive long enough to take down SD-6 once and for all, while searching for the people who know their truth.   
  
rating: PG-13  
  
Classification: Action-adventure, suspense  
  
AN:  I hate first chapters...they're always so boring!  Basically, this is just setting up the fic, and I know it drones on at times...bear with me though, I swear this will be more complex than the gazillion other fics out there with the same premise!   
  
Chapter One  
  
Eyes like a searchlight at night, aimed at the sky...  
  
There ain't no doubt, they'll shoot you out, for what you're about, dodging these bullets they aim for you.  
  
  
  
It started out as a normal day, as I'm sure they all do. Bad things always seem to happen on fabulous days. The day my mother died—or, rather, willingly abandoned me as part of her twisted plot—was like any other; I bounded around the kitchen in my Winnie the Pooh pajamas as my mother cooked me scrambled eggs—scrambled eggs. How normal. That evening, I was as excited as any little girl to have a babysitter—a 16 year old, as grown up as I could ever hope to be, who braided my hair and regaled me with big- girl stories of high school as my world turned inside out around me. My life ended on a normal day.  
  
This time was to be no different; however, it didn't end with a car crash, it simply marked the beginning of the torturously slow rot that would eat away my life. I began my day with a five-mile run; seemingly endless laps around the track as I prepared for another day at SD-6. The note on my desk from my father, asking me to join him for lunch that day, was unusual but not unheard of; father-daughter bonding must include the occasional lunch, right?  
  
As luck would have it, he picked the noisiest restaurant in LA for us; filled with blaring music, televisions showing various sporting events, and noisy lunchers feeling the need to shout to one another across the great chasm known as a table. I was surprised at the choice; it didn't strike me as very Jack Bristow-like, but I chalked it up to a desire for some element of normalcy in our lives.  
  
The overly cheerful waitress slid our hamburgers onto the table, and I turned to thank her. When I looked back at my plate, hungrily anticipating this normal hamburger, I saw the manila folder he had set next to the plate. It hit me—lunch, the noisy restaurant, was so we could speak without being heard. We weren't eating a meal as a normal father and daughter, we were eating a meal as spies under the ruse of normalcy.  
  
I looked up at him questioningly, and his eyes silently implored me to look in the folder. "This was on my front stoop last night," he said softly, taking a bite of his burger. I gently lifted the folder open, and felt my stomach crash to the floor.  
  
Pictures. Pictures of me, and Vaughn. Meeting at the warehouse, the observatory, the street corner. Exchanging glances, files, Christmas present. Oh. My God. I was exposed.  
  
"Wh—what is this?" I whispered desperately, slamming the folder closed violently. For the first time ever, I wished feverently that this was a question of our relationship—I would have cherished questions about the propriety of our relationship, the nature of the gift, CIA protocol. Anything but what I knew these pictures were really about.  
  
"I have no idea where this came from," he said softly, his eyes full of fear. "I have no idea who took these, who knows, why they were given to me—no idea."  
  
I wanted to get up and run, leave the maddeningly noisy restaurant and LA and SD-6 and the CIA behind and just go. I had no idea how I was going to survive this—I had survived questions, lie detector tests, assassination attempts. But never pictures—never this.  
  
I forced myself to take a bite of my hamburger and think rationally. "Okay—it could be K-Directorate, or another agency, looking to blackmail us. It could be—I don't know!" Desperation started to take over. "Could it be SD-6? Could they know?"  
  
He shook his head. "If they had conformation like this, you would be dead." I shuddered—how many times had this fear crossed through my mind? "My guess is another agency, looking to blackmail you and I, or the CIA, someone."  
  
My mind raced. How long did I have, before SD-6 got those pictures? How could I possibly stop it? "So, what do we do now?" I demanded. Daddy, please, have an answer, please make this right, the little girl who still thought her daddy could make everything in the world right called out. He put his hand on top of the folder, slid it back into his briefcase, and gave me too simple of an answer.  
  
"We wait."  
  
  
  
The afternoon back at SD-6 was, simply put, hellish. I sat there in that briefing room, pretending to love Marshall, adore Sloane; pretending that I wasn't scared to death of nearly every person in that office. Pretending that half of me didn't believe I might not even make it out of the building. Dixon and I were briefed on our mission to Paris; another villain, another computer disk, another countermission. I arrived home on edge, waiting for the inevitable assassin to leap out of the shadows. This was, of course, the evening Will decided pizza and movies would be absolutely fantastic, and he was already camped out on my couch.  
  
"How's it goin', Syd?" he asked the minute I walked in the door, and I plastered on my signature grin, silently cursing him for being so damn chipper. "Ready for a movie night?"  
  
"Oh, really, tonight?" I asked him as I set down my briefcase, forcing myself to sound as carefree as possible. "I was kind of just planning on getting to sleep early—I had a rough day." Understatement of the century.  
  
Will was determined not to give up. "Sorry, Syd—ya don't have a choice in the matter. Pizza's on its way, Francie went to rent a movie, and you're not getting out of it." Sighing, I sat down on the couch, putting my feet up on the coffee table. Just be nice, just be pleasant. It's not Will's fault that people are intent on destroying my life.  
  
The pizza boy arrived just as Francie got home with the movie. Deciding that I would make every effort possible to be downright pleasant to Francie and Will, I got myself a slice of pepperoni and returned to the couch. "So, what'd ya get, Fran?" I asked her, taking a bite of my pizza.  
  
"Goldeneye—classic James Bond movie!" she announced, and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. How ironic is my life??  
  
"Classic? Hardly!" Will challenged, sitting next to me on the couch. "Pierce Brosnan—give me a break. Sean Connery. Now that's classic."  
  
"Whatever, he's still hot," Francie laughed as the movie started. Thanks, Fran. Thanks for helping me take my mind of the world of espionage.  
  
About ten minutes into the movie, the phone rang. Will jumped up to get the phone in the kitchen, and I turned to Francie. "Since when does he answer our phone?" I asked her, and she grinned. "Since he started eating every meal here, I guess."  
  
I heard Will talking, and my ears pricked up. "No, this isn't Joey's Pizza—what the hell is Joey's Pizza, anyway? Why don't you just call Pizza Hut, or something?" My heart sank. As much as Vaughn needed to know what was going on, I really didn't feel like having that conversation. At all. How do you tell a man that his life's in danger like that, anyway? 'Oh, by the way, we've been made—pack your bags and pray you can make it to the airport?' Suddenly, the pepperoni pizza that had looked so delicious just moments before was the last thing I wanted in my stomach.  
  
"Stupid pizza place," Will muttered, settling back into the couch. I stared blankly at the TV for a couple of minutes, thinking of nothing but Vaughn, the pictures. Imagining the look on his face as I told him that his world had just been turned upside down, his life destroyed. After a couple of minutes, I got off the couch and headed for the freezer. Opening it, I feigned surprise and shut it again. "Darn—we're out of ice cream. That sounds so good right now…does anyone else feel like ice cream?"  
  
"But, Syd—we have those chocolate chip cookies I baked yesterday," Francie said, raising her eyebrows at me. "Why don't you just have those?"  
  
"Yeah, I know—I just really want ice cream," I said lightly, trying to sound disappointed. "I think I'm going to run out and get some—anyone want?"  
  
"You're gonna miss the movie for ice cream?" Will asked me, sounding completely baffled. Both he and Francie started at me blankly, as I stood like an idiot in the kitchen.  
  
"Yeah, well, I've already seen it," I said, grabbing my keys and heading for the door. "I'll be back soon!"  
  
"Okay…" Francie said, and I slammed the door behind me. My eyes stung with tears as I hurried to my car—all I wanted was a movie night with my best friends, and I had just lied to them. Again.  
  
  
  
The drive to the warehouse seemed endless, and I checked my review mirror about every 3 seconds for tails. Finally, I arrived, and walked into the eerie green glow of the warehouse.  
  
Vaughn stood in our usual meeting spot, looking completely casual—excited, actually. He opened the door for me, and I stepped in quickly, my hands shaking. Vaughn leaned up against the chain-link wall, and started right away. "Your countermission for Paris is simple—dead-drop at the airport so we can make copies. We have reason to believe the intel is extremely important, and might help us to…" he trailed off when he looked at my face; the complete lack of color, my eyes darting nervously around the room. "Syd…what's going on?"  
  
I drew in a shaky breath, trying to calm myself enough to speak. I had been hoping that Vaughn had already found out about the pictures, somehow, but it was obvious that he had no idea. Finally, I just looked him straight in the eyes, and spoke. "Someone knows about us. About this."  
  
A thousand emotions ran through Vaughn's eyes in an instant—fear, confusion, utter panic. His jaw dropped, and he simply asked, "What?"  
  
I closed my eyes and tried to think of the words to say, any possible way to lessen this terrible news. Unable to think of anything, I decided to simply tell him everything. "Someone left pictures on my father's doorstep last night—surveillance pictures, of us. Us talking, on the street, in here, exchanging information—everything. We're exposed."  
  
Vaughn looked as if I had punched him in the stomach—the color drained from his face, and his mouth hung open slightly. "Oh my God…this isn't happening," he whispered. I felt so sorry for him—I deserved all of this. I was the one double-crossing SD-6. But Vaughn—he was just a man who wanted to serve his country. He had friends, a mother, a bulldog—and I had shot that all to hell. He shouldn't be killed on account of me making the stupidest decision of my life when I was 19, and the most dangerous at 26.  
  
"I…I…I don't know what to do," I responded helplessly, and suddenly wanted to cry. I just couldn't help it anymore—the lies, the secrecy, was simply too overwhelming. The tears I had held back earlier rushed to the surface of my eyes, threatening to expose my fragility. "I don't know how I'm going to get out of this—we! You, Vaughn—this isn't fair to you!" I cried, becoming desperate, and a tear spilled out onto my cheek.  
  
"Syd, Syd, let's try to think rationally here," he pleaded, and I fought to drain the tears from my eyes. "Whoever it is, doesn't seem to have gone to SD-6…they must have some other motive." I nodded, forcing myself to concentrate on what he was saying. "If they did, we would be…" he stopped himself from finishing the sentence. We would be dead, I thought to myself bitterly. "We would know that they knew," he finished. I nodded. "The question is…who is it? Who took these pictures? Who wants us to know we've been made?"  
  
After what seemed like an eternity of silence, I decided to speak. "Could it be another agency, looking to blackmail me for intel about SD-6?" He nodded, acknowledging this as a possibility. "It could be K- Directorate, Khisanau…could there be a mole in the Agency?" This last possibility scared me more than anything else—the CIA was the truth in what I was doing, my only safety. If I couldn't trust them…  
  
"I don't know," he whispered, staring down at his hands. "It's a possibility…it would make sense."  
  
"How would any other agency ever think of this, think to track me down…it just doesn't make sense." I felt defeated. It was the only possibility. "But, God…who could it be? What do we do?"  
  
Vaughn sighed, and looked up at me. "If we report this to Devlin, tell him our suspicions—the mole would find out. That would be..."  
  
He trailed off, and the true weight of the situation hit me like a brick wall. It hit me that we truly could be killed for this. I turned to him, my eyes full of fear, and finished his sentence. "…disastrous."  
  
"Well, what are we supposed to do?" I spat out desperately, almost angrily. "Go on with our lives, pretend that we're not a step away from disaster? How do we do that? Aren't there any other options?"  
  
"We flee," Vaughn replied simply, and I shook my head with determination. "We run, we get the hell out of here—and if we tell Devlin about this, we'll be forced into the Protection Program. He would never allow us to stay."  
  
"I'm not hiding—I won't allow this person to take my life from me," I said with determination, and Vaughn nodded his head, almost hesitantly. "It seems as if this person, this agency, is looking for blackmail—I guess we wait and find out what they want?" I meant it to be a statement, but it came across as a question—because I had no idea what one did in a situation like this.  
  
Vaughn looked up at me, into my eyes. "Sydney—whatever you do, whatever happens, we're in this together. And we will get through this together. I will not abandon you." I stared into his eyes, and saw that he was telling the truth—he would never leave me to get through this myself. After a minute, he spoke again. "I know this mission to Paris is the last thing on your mind—but it's an important one." I looked at him with curiosity. "The information you're being sent to retrieve—it's vital intel about the agency, about its inner workings. If—when," he corrected himself quickly, "we acquire this, it will be a crushing blow to SD-6." His eyes flashed with determination. "With this, Sydney—SD-6's end will actually be in sight."  
  
My heart leapt—end. In sight. The words didn't even sound real. But this made up my mind. "It's settled, then," I said with conviction. "There's no way in hell I'm fleeing." 


	2. Chapter Two

AN: First of all, huge, huge thanks to Shannon and Moon, who beta-ed my first chapter, and who I forgot to thank last time. You guys were a tremendous, tremendous help—thanks for your support and suggestions! And thanks to everyone who had read, and given me feedback—you guys brighten my day more than you could ever know. Thanks for the encouragement.  
  
Chapter Two  
  
You've been invited to fight in this long, secret war,  
  
Buyer beware, there's people out there, they don't really care,  
  
Holding a mailbomb addressed to you  
  
I got home at about 11—our meeting was, of course, longer than usual, and I was especially paranoid on the way home; checking my mirrors compulsively, doubling back, the whole time expecting some black SUV to run my vehicle off the road, end it right then and there. The house was dark; long- abandoned pizza boxes sat on the coffee table, and I realized I didn't even have ice cream as evidence of my shopping trip. I changed into my pajamas quickly and gravitated for the safety of my bed, half-expecting Francie to poke her head in and see what the hell had happened to me.  
  
But, of course, there was no one to check on me—they probably thought I would never come back. The roommate with the bizarre bank job who runs off for ice cream and never returns. How could I expect them to care anymore? It was becoming glaringly obvious that my life was not normal, that I was lying to them. Normal people don't leave a club to make a phone call and return half a week later. Normal people don't need ice cream with such urgency.  
  
As I drifted off into a restless sleep, I wondered which was worse; being killed for what I was doing, or continuing to live my pathetic, disconnected existence.  
  
  
  
The next morning, I didn't even see Francie—she had left early in the morning, and the breakfast table felt empty without her energetic morning chatter. I started blankly into my coffee cup as I choked down a bowl of cereal, and trudged off to work feeling like the loneliest person in the world.  
  
My day at SD-6 was eerily normal; with Dixon and I leaving for Paris that night, we ran through op-tech with Marshall, went over paperwork, the usual. My dad pulled me aside and asked me what Vaughn had said—surprising, he agreed with our decision not to tell Devlin, and wait it out. Lastly, he warned me to be careful in Paris—same as always. As his pen began to beep, signaling the end of our conversation, he reached across the table and squeezed my hand gently.  
  
"We will get through this together," he said softly. The same thing Vaughn had said to me.  
  
  
  
I hurried home after work, planning to pack quickly and get to the airport as soon as I could. Somehow, this mission to Paris was helping to take my mind off the situation—the possible takedown of SD-6 made me feel like, somehow, the fact that those pictures existed wouldn't matter. If SD- 6 was gone, it wouldn't matter who knew I worked for the CIA.  
  
Opening the front door, I found Francie sitting on the couch, staring at the tv, which was turned off. "Hey, Syd," she said, looking up at me. Her eyes were filled with sadness, hurt, and my heart wrenched.  
  
"Hey Fran," I said slowly, setting down my briefcase. "Listen, about last night…"  
  
"You don't have to explain," she cut me off. "If you were mad at me, or Will, you don't have to explain—you have every right not to spend an evening with us." Her mouth quivered slightly, and I could see how much I had truly hurt her.  
  
I sat down next to her on the couch, and looked her squarely in the eyes. "Francie, it wasn't you guys, honestly." I swallowed, and continued my story. "I really was going to go grab some ice cream, and I passed this park—I remembered the time I had a picnic with Danny there, and I just broke down." My eyes welled up with tears, but because there was no picnic, no park. "I ended up sitting on a bench, remembering all these wonderful memories of him, and I just lost track of time."  
  
Francie put her arms around me, and I felt like the lowest human being in the world. "Oh, sweetie, I am so sorry, I had no idea."  
  
"It's okay, really," I said, forcing myself to smile at her. "I just felt horrible for abandoning you guys, missing our movie night."  
  
"You didn't miss much—just a lot of pizza and Will's snarky comments," she chuckled. Hesitantly, I unwrapped myself from her arms and got off the couch. "Another trip?" she questioned, as I wheeled my suitcase out of the hall closet.  
  
"Yep—Seattle," I said, heading for my bedroom. I heard Francie call my name, and I headed back into the living room. "What's up?" I asked her, sounding surprisingly cheery.  
  
"Oh, it's really nothing—just the weirdest thing happened at the ATM today. I went to get some cash—I had the biggest Taco Bell craving—and it said my account had no money. It was really freaky."  
  
I felt like someone kicked me in the stomach. I could feel the color drain from my face as I struggled to keep my composure.  
  
"It shouldn't be any big deal—the bank told me to swing by tomorrow, and get it all straightened out." She shrugged, but I wasn't as convinced. Was it truly a coincidence? Would money simply disappear from an account like that?  
  
"Let me know what happens with that, okay?" I asked her shakily, and she nodded, saying "I'm not worried about it at all. Mistakes happen."  
  
I went to my room to pack, trembling slightly. I tried to reassure myself that it was a mistake, a non-issue—but something nagging in the back of my head told me that it was more than that.  
  
  
  
Paris. Another mission, another party. This time was at some diplomat's mansion; a ridiculously lavish party in a disgustingly large house. The man had acquired documents about the Alliance; how he got them, I'm not quite sure—and I can't say that I cared. My mission was to download the information off of his computer—poor guy, he probably had no idea that his computer contained information about one of the world's largest spy organizations, no clue that his brains would probably be blown out over information he had no idea how to use.  
  
I wore a simple black dress, slit to my knee; enough to fit in with the glamorous crowd, but not enough to draw any amount of attention. I scanned the large banquet room full of elegant guests, looking for any possible threat, as Dixon's voice echoed in my ear. 'The study is through the door in the far right corner, down two flights of stairs and on the left.'  
  
"Copy that," I said quietly, smiling at one of the immaculate waiters and taking a glass of champagne. Slipping unnoticed through the crowd, I made my way to the door, which was unguarded. I tried the door handle and, surprisingly, it was unlocked. Odd, I thought, as I hurried down the stairs. Once again, the study door was also unlocked, and I began to get nervous. This was just too easy.  
  
I set the SD-6 copying device on the computer's hard drive, with the CIA device on top of that. Uneasily, I looked around the study—nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Bookcases extended from floor to ceiling, filled with an impressive collection of leather-bound books. The desk was nearly immaculate; computer, pens, and an ink blotter.  
  
The devices beeped slightly as they copied the computer's hard drive, and I tapped my fingers impatiently on the desk. My stomach churned, and I silently willed the machines to copy faster; I wanted nothing more than to leave that party and get back to the van with Dixon.  
  
Finally, they were finished copying, and I stuffed them into my purse and left the study quickly. As I reached the top of the first flight of stairs, I heard what sounded like a cough. I froze, and my breath caught in my throat.  
  
"Everything okay, Syd?" Dixon's voice emerged over the earpiece, and I fought to steady my breathing. "I'm not sure," I whispered, and hesitantly looked around the corner up the next flight of stairs.  
  
Nothing. I breathed a sigh of relief, and hurried up the last flight of stairs. Easing the door that lead to the banquet hall open, I managed to slip back into the party unnoticed.  
  
"I'm on my way out," I said to Dixon, hurrying for the exit. I glanced around the party, relieved to see that I was completely unnoticed by any of the other guests.  
  
The perfect mission, I thought to myself.  
  
  
  
"It just seems too perfect, Vaughn," I said urgently. "This information, so critical to the survival of the Alliance—and look how easy it was for me to get it!" I paced nervously along the cement floor, and looked up at Vaughn. The eerie green glow of the warehouse cast a shadow upon his face, but there was no mistaking the creases of worry along his forehead.  
  
Vaughn sighed. "I know, Syd…it does seem easy. I don't know what to say, other than maybe it was just a stroke of good luck."  
  
Our eyes met, and I could tell that he only half-believed this. He had almost a look of hesitation, like he didn't truly believe that luck like this would truly happen to us.  
  
"Okay, so the computer gave us a location," I said, in a perhaps futile attempt to think rationally. "We have the address of an office building in Moscow, and we think this somehow pertains to sensitive Alliance information?" I just wasn't completely buying this.  
  
He nodded. "Really, is it that unbelievable? It doesn't seem unlike SD-6, or any other organization like them, to leave information scattered in different locations, piece-by-piece." He chuckled slightly. "After all, these are the people who have turned Rambaldi artifact-hunting into a professional sport."  
  
I looked up at him and smiled, shaking my head. Leave it to Vaughn to find humor in this situation—he was probably one of few who could have. "So, I'm guessing I'm off to Moscow?" I asked. I couldn't imagine Devlin sending just some field agent to handle this.  
  
"Of course," he said, smiling. "Think you could take more vacation time from work?"  
  
"I'm sure I can manage it—I seem to be becoming quite fond of taking vacations by myself," I said dryly. "But yeah, I'm sure I can manage it."  
  
"Good," Vaughn said simply. "And, actually…" he paused, looking away from my gaze. "You won't be going by yourself. Devlin wants me to go with you—he thinks it's too dangerous to send you alone."  
  
I felt a smile cross my lips, and I fought to conceal it—the last thing I needed was to look like some giggly teenaged girl at the prospect of going on a mission with Vaughn. "Sounds good," I said simply, and stood to leave.  
  
As I turned my back to him, he reached out and touched my shoulder, stopping me. "Wait," he said softly, and I looked back at him curiously. "Listen, Syd—how have you been holding up? I know with the pictures, we were both freaked out the other night, and I was just wondering if you were doing alright."  
  
I was relieved he had brought them up—we had both been avoiding the topic, obviously wishing that, by not bringing it up, we could push the problem away forever. "I'm still really scared," I admitted, looking straight into his eyes. I could see that he felt the same—his usually clear green eyes were clouded with fear. "And I think it's bothering me even more that we haven't gotten anything more, any demands, requests, anything—I mean, what do they want?"  
  
Vaughn nodded. "I've been wondering the same thing—if it is another agency, looking to blackmail, why haven't we heard anything more? It simply isn't adding up."  
  
The fear in the pit of my stomach that I had been fighting to push aside all day was resurfacing, and I was extremely grateful I had someone to talk to. "I don't know—it really isn't adding up," I agreed. "There's something more going on here—and I just don't know what."  
  
Vaughn nodded. "I agree," he said simply. After a pause, he sighed and spoke again. "But, unfortunately, there's nothing we can do—all we can do right now is focus on Moscow, retrieving that information, and hopefully get one step closer to the end."  
  
I nodded. "The end," I repeated softly. The words sounded strange, as if I couldn't really believe it was true.  
  
I started to leave, my head swirling with a hundred questions, a thousand fears. "Be careful, Syd," Vaughn said softly, and somehow the words sounded more genuine, more heartfelt, than usual. They echoed in my head long after I left the warehouse, as I drove home. 


	3. Chapter Three

AN: So, so, so much thanks goes to the diary crowd for all your help, support, and love. You girls are amazing.your unconditional support means so much to me, and has forced me to sit at the keyboard and get through this ridiculous writer's block!! And, of course, all the love goes to those of you who are reading this.I know it's been slow-going, but I think I've conquered the block. ::grins:: Everyone, thanks for all the support!!  
  
Chapter Three  
  
"Voices, footsteps, shadows, they follow you home, You'll hear the sound, of men underground, standing around, Holding a shovel to bury you."  
  
Moscow  
  
The van edged slowly through the dark night, and I glanced up at Vaughn, sitting across from me. The look on his face was one of such concentration, such intensity-I could tell that this mission was just as important to him as it was to me. On the surface, I'm sure I seemed calm and collected, ready to go. But inside, I was a mess-my stomach was churning, as countless scenarios ran through my head; images of a setup, of a mission gone wrong. I shook my head, and tried to convince myself that this was an ordinary mission, that everything would go fine.  
  
I wasn't very good at it.  
  
As I sat with my eyes closed, trying to reassure myself, I heard a voice, gently saying my name. I opened my eyes. The van was filled with people- seven, maybe eight, all other agents. Vaughn peered at me, a curious look on his face.  
  
"Are you alright?" he asked softly.  
  
I shook my head, as if trying to rid myself of any negative thoughts, and forced myself to smile at him. "Yeah, I'm fine," I answered. I could tell he wasn't buying it, though. What could I do, though? It wasn't my job to convince Vaughn that I wasn't emotionally invested in this mission. That it didn't scare the hell out of me. The possible end of SD-6.God, the end of my life's torture could be at the end of this van ride. Did he really expect me to be alright?  
  
We both looked down at our laps, avoiding each other's glance, as the van bumped through the darkness.  
  
After the twenty longest minutes of my life, the van pulled up behind a row of office buildings, in a dark alley. I took in a deep breath, trying to calm myself, trying to prevent my trembling hands from becoming obvious.  
  
The van was completely silent-nobody spoke, nobody moved. Nobody took too loud a breath. The air was thick, stifling; filled with the tension and excitement and fear of all of us. Everyone knew how huge this was. Everyone knew this could be the end.  
  
But no one knew what the end would mean more than I did.  
  
We all knew the mission plan front and back; no review was necessary. Two of the agents would gain access to the building, then the rest of the team would secure it, make sure no one was inside. Then we would begin looking for this document, this disk; the enigma hidden within the building.  
  
Was I really expecting the end of SD-6 to be stored in a Russian office building?  
  
The first two agents exited the van, and if it was at all possible, we all became even quieter. I was afraid to blink, to breathe; I was afraid to look up at Vaughn and see what he was feeling.  
  
After a couple of torturously long minutes, the building was broken into, and now it was time to move. No more wondering; it was finally happening. We stormed into the building, somehow remaining completely silent. Clutching my pistol with white knuckles, I delved further into the building, through a maze of dark hallways and eerily quiet rooms. I felt Vaughn's constant presence behind me; even though I dared not take my eyes off the obstacles ahead and look back at him, I knew he was behind me, with me.  
  
My heart raced as we combed the first level of the building, until we were certain no one was waiting in the shadows. Our intel indicated the information was in an office on the second floor. That was all we had.  
  
I reached a staircase, the only one we had come upon. This was it. We were really getting ready to find the information. For the first time, I glanced back at Vaughn, not sure what to expect. Our eyes met, and I knew instantly he was as afraid as I was. His eyes flashed, and he nodded. "Let's go," he whispered, so quietly I never actually heard the words. I only read them as they left his lips, and I nodded.  
  
I put my foot up on the first step, and began to climb. Vaughn put his hand against my back, so softly I could barely feel his touch. But I felt it race up my spine, and it gave me the encouragement I needed. Adrenaline began to pump through me, and I began to actually get excited. I allowed it to finally hit me; it was almost over. SD-6 was crumbling with each step we took.  
  
We stepped up to the second floor, our eyes searching frantically through the darkness, looking for something, anything. My breath caught in my throat, disbelieving what I was seeing.  
  
Nothing. The floor was one huge, open space, completely empty. No desks, no rooms, no hallways, nothing. My mind reeling, I stepped further into the room, becoming desperate. There had to be something.a computer, a filing cabinet, a scrap of paper on the floor, anything.  
  
At some point, the rest of the agents joined us on the second floor, although I didn't really notice their presence. My mind was numb; I was so desperate for the information I had been so incredibly sure would be there.  
  
I must have stood, unmoving, in the same spot for minutes, because Vaughn was suddenly by my side.  
  
"Sydney.I'm so sorry," he said softly, and I could feel the tears brimming in my eyes. This couldn't be possible. It couldn't.  
  
"We've searched everywhere.looked under the floorboards, behind the walls, everything. We've looked everywhere."  
  
"There's nothing here."  
  
I don't remember a whole lot after that-I'm not sure why. I was just so stunned, so upset-something wasn't right. Had we misinterpreted the information? There wasn't any other explanation-we saw what we saw. There was simply supposed to be something there.  
  
Someone-probably Vaughn-must have put me on a flight home, because I certainly had no recollection of going to an airport, of getting on a plane. Shock was the best explanation I could come up with. I must have been in shock.  
  
I stared out the window, at the dark, inky waters of the Atlantic, ignoring the flight attendant asking me in broken English if I wanted something to drink. My mind numbed, my senses dulled, I stared blankly at the vast ocean, trying to figure out what was going wrong. Attempting to come up with an explanation for the last few days of my life.  
  
Someone had pictures of me and Vaughn, meeting. Someone knew that I worked for the CIA, that I was a double agent. These people left copies of the pictures for my father to find. Someone wanted him to know that they knew. Did they know that he was also a double agent? Did they choose to reveal what they knew because they also knew about him? Or was it simply because he was my father?  
  
I had been able to push aside this situation, wait to deal with it, because I thought the end of SD-6 was in sight. The intel I recovered in Paris, it clearly pointed to the office building in Moscow. There was no other way to interpret it.  
  
So why wasn't anything there? Why was the office empty? It certainly wasn't a setup.if it was, the entire team would have been caught then and there. That wasn't it..but, what was it? I sighed angrily, frustrated at my inability to comprehend the situation. There was something going on. I just couldn't figure out what the missing pieces were.  
  
I returned to LA physically and emotionally exhausted-unfortunately, it was time to return to the charade of my life. Sydney Bristow, the amazing, unbreakable woman. I surprised Francie by being home so early.she was thrilled that I actually had time to sit down and eat a meal with her. We ordered take-out Chinese and giggled about-God, I don't even remember what. I'm not sure how I was able to carry on a normal conversation, but I did it.for an evening, I acted like a normal friend.  
  
And it broke my heart that eating with Francie was actually the last place on Earth I wanted to be. After all the times I had pined for a normal life, even just a normal evening.I got it, and I would have much rather been in a desolate warehouse, plotting another mission. I think I forced myself to simply become numb to it all. Actually, I think I had been forcing myself to get to that state for a long, long time. After a few hours with Francie, I simply stopped caring. About it all. Face it, I told myself.this charade will never end. You will always lie to Sloane, lie to your friends, get dressed in ridiculous costumes and lie to strangers.this is your life. No sense in getting yourself excited about an end. It will never come.  
  
After hours on the couch with Francie, eating ice cream and giggling over old sitcoms, I went to bed a new woman. I would simply stop caring. The truth was, my life would always be a ridiculous tightrope act, no matter how hard I fought for a change. Someone had pictures on me? What could I do? SD-6 wasn't ending, there was no way I was getting out of it. If they wanted to kill me, there was really nothing I could do. I might be killed on a mission next week, anyway. SD-6 might find me to be the mole and decide to off me the next time I walked into the office. The end was closing in from all directions.I might as well sit back and attempt to enjoy what scraps of a normal life I had left.  
  
And enjoy the little bit of vacation I had left. I wasn't due back at SD-6 for two days.the time I had expected it to take to finish them off. I had simply told Sloane I needed a few days off, to just stay at home and "decompress." I believe those were the exact words I used, too. I might as well try.hell, maybe I could go shopping or something. Normal people shop, right?  
  
I settled underneath my blankets, and closed my eyes. Surprisingly, I quickly began to drift off to sleep. Until I heard the crash.  
  
My eyes flew open, and I sat up, trying to figure out what was going on. Another crash came from the living room.this one sounding like shattering glass.  
  
"Fran?" I called out, scrambling out of bed and rushing for my door. "Francie? Are you okay? What's going on?"  
  
No reply. I began to get scared. What the hell was going on? My heart was racing.this was not right. This was not good. Those were the only thoughts I could come up with. My hands shook violently, as I tried to figure out what to do. After a moment of hesitation, I cracked open my door and peered out into the hall.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
AN: Ooh! A cliffhanger!! This was a little shorter than I'd like, and a little lacking.but, hey. It's done, finally! I saw this chapter as almost a necessary evil.all about the plot development. I can't wait until chapter four.that's when I get to start having fun. ::evil grin:: This is going to get turned upside-down, so don't worry.I'm going to have fun really screwing with Sydney's little world. (And, don't worry.I haven't forgotten about Francie's bank account, or the blackmailing agency.it'll all come together. Really.) 


	4. Chapter Four

AN: Huge thanks to Karen for the beta.it helped me immensely. And thanks to everyone reading.I've had a hard time lately, and haven't written much. Thanks for sticking with me.  
  
Chapter Three  
  
"You've been invited to tear down this locked, secret door. There ain't no doubt, they'll take you out, and all you're about, Dodging these daggers they throw at you."  
  
I peered down the dark hallway, searching for something, anything. I heard a door slam, then silence.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Balling my hands into tight fists, I took a hesitant step out of my doorway, expecting someone to jump out of the shadows. All I could hear were the sounds of my frantic breathing; the house was completely silent.  
  
"Syd?" I jumped at the sound of my name and whirled around quickly. Francie stumbled towards me, her eyes still half-closed. "Syd, what's going on? I thought I heard something."  
  
"So did I," I breathed, my eyes darting about as they grew accustomed to the darkness. Fairly certain that no one was still in the apartment, I stepped slowly into the living room, Francie right behind me.  
  
Throwing on the light switch, my breath caught in my throat at what I saw. The room was torn apart. Couches ripped to shreds, tables turned over, our television shattered, shards of glass where windows once were. Completely ransacked.  
  
"Oh my God!" Francie shrieked behind me, and I could feel my stomach drop to the floor. "Syd, Syd, oh my God, we've been robbed!"  
  
I tuned out Francie's cries as I walked slowly around the room, my eyes mechanically surveying the destruction. It was clear that nothing was missing. It wasn't a robbery.  
  
"Francie, go put on some shoes," I told her, my voice expressing no emotion. "I don't want you to cut your feet on all this glass." I hurried back to my room and slid into my slippers, glancing around quickly. The room was completely undisturbed. I picked up the cordless phone on my bedside and hesitated at who to call. Vaughn? My father? Instead, I dialed 911, calmly telling the operator that my house had been robbed. Best to play dumb.  
  
As I told the operator what had happened-woken up by a crashing sound, living room torn apart-a small flash of white on my dresser caught my eye. A small piece of paper propped against my jewelry box. I delicately picked it up and after a moment of hesitation, unfolded it.  
  
It read simply, 'We know who you are.'  
  
I paced around slowly as the police searched the room, the blue and red lights from their patrol cars bouncing across the walls. A couple of officers were talking with Francie, probably getting a statement, and I was left to pace.  
  
Approaching our bookshelf, my gaze fell upon the shattered picture frames.images of me Francie, and Will; happier times. Destroyed. I thought bitterly that the symbolism was quite ironic. Foreshadowing, perhaps.  
  
"Miss?" a voice came from behind. I whirled around and saw the officer speaking to me. He was an older man, kind looking, but with a certain quality to his face. Worry lines surrounded his tired eyes, as if he had seen far too much in his time. Reminded me of my father.  
  
He asked me what had happened, and I told him exactly what did, glancing around the room nervously as I spoke.  
  
"And that was it, Miss Bristow?" he questioned, looking at me from above his wire-rimmed glasses. "None of the other rooms were touched? Absolutely nothing?"  
  
"No," I said softly, my fingers brushing the note that rested in my pocket. "Nothing at all."  
  
The officers looked around our apartment for about an hour more as Francie and I huddled together in a corner, out of the way, barely speaking. By the time they finished up, it was almost five in the morning. But I wasn't having any problems staying awake.  
  
After most of the officers had left, the one that reminded me of my father approached us, looking sympathetic. "I know it's late, ladies, and I think we're done. We dusted for prints and nothing came up. Since nothing is missing, there's not much we can do.we have virtually no evidence. I think it would be safe to assume that the perpetrator had the intention of robbing you, but was scared off when you woke up."  
  
I nodded. Oh, how I wished it were that simple.  
  
"Have you noticed anything unusual in the past few days? Any suspicious activity, suspicious persons outside of your house, anything of the sort?"  
  
I shook my head, but Francie got a scared look in her eyes. "A few days ago, all the money from one of my bank accounts went missing. I assumed it was a bank error, or something.but they said they didn't know anything about it." She gasped. "You don't think that could have anything to do with it, do you?"  
  
The officer sighed, shaking his head. "Gosh.wow. It very well could. I don't know how, though. Have you ladies pissed anyone off lately?"  
  
Ha. Ha. If only he knew.  
  
He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable that neither of us cracked a smile. "Well.that's certainly something we want to look into. I'll tell you what. It's late. Why don't you come down to the station tomorrow and fill out a statement about your bank account? We'll see if we can't get that figured out. All right?"  
  
We nodded and said goodnight, our apartment finally empty. Francie hurried off to bed, but I knew there was no way I would be able to sleep. I needed to clear my head, attempt to figure out what was going on. Who had broken in? Were they looking for something? Or were they just trying to scare me- a warning?  
  
I pondered where to go, what to do. I needed to do something because I felt uneasy sitting in the ransacked apartment, as if somebody was watching me. I debated going running, getting a cup of coffee, calling Vaughn.  
  
But, for some strange reason, I felt compelled to go to SD-6. I felt like I needed to be in the office, needed to speak with Sloane. See his face.  
  
  
  
The parking garage at Credit Dauphine was eerily silent as I pulled my car into a space near the front. 5:45 am. Among the few cars scattered across the lot, I recognized Marshall's and Sloane's. It didn't surprise me that either of them were at work at this time of day.  
  
The halls of SD-6 were a scene similar to the garage. A few agents sat at their desks, sipping coffee, silently pecking away at their keyboards. I strode past my desk without hesitation, deciding to talk to Sloane right away.  
  
As I approached his office, I could see him through the open door; he looked tired, worn. Tie disheveled, a five-o'clock shadow gracing his chin, he looked up, his eyes met mine, and a certain look crossed his face. Surprise, maybe, but knowing. And smug..  
  
"Sydney," he said slowly, rising out of his chair. "Come in, sit down." I entered his office and the glass doors swished shut behind me, completely blocking out the rest of the office.  
  
"You're back early," he said, almost warmly, taking a sip out of a plain white mug. "How was your time off?"  
  
"It was nice-relaxing," I said evenly, studying his face as I spoke. A complete poker face. "But I decided to cut it short. Which was probably a fortunate decision on my part since my home was broken into last night."  
  
As I said this, Sloane shifted in his chair, leaning back to cross his legs. "It was? What happened?" he asked, sounding concerned.  
  
"I'm not really sure. My roommate and I were awoken by sounds in the middle of the night; we found the apartment completely ransacked."  
  
Sloane's expression didn't change at all; no sign of surprise, shock, sympathy, nothing. His eyes simply stared straight ahead, into my eyes. "That's unusual," he said. "Was anything taken?"  
  
"Not that we know of," I replied slowly, trying to maintain an even composure. "The police think it was just a random break in, but that the robbers got scared off when we woke up."  
  
"Hmm," Sloane said, taking another sip of his coffee. His eyes met mine again, and he raised his eyebrows expectantly. "It is fortunate then, that you decided to come home early. I'd hate to think what would have happened to your roommate, or your apartment, if you hadn't been there."  
  
I lifted an eyebrow at his comments. Was that a veiled threat?  
  
"Is there anything else you'd wanted to talk about, Sydney?"  
  
I shook my head and forced a smile. "No, everything's fine,"  
  
"I'm glad to hear that," he said, smiling at me again. "I'm sorry you weren't able to enjoy your entire vacation, but since you're back, you might as well get started up again. Marshall has some new tech he'd like to go over with you. Maybe you'd be able to see him now."  
  
I nodded and rose, smiling down at Sloane. "That sounds good. I'll go see him right away."  
  
He nodded. "Good to have you back, Sydney. And if you need to talk any more.you know where to find me."  
  
My day back at SD-6 was as normal as it could be, and I was out of the office by 5:30. But instead of going home, I set out for the warehouse. I needed to tell Vaughn about what had happened.  
  
I arrived to find him pacing, as I often did. I had dropped a paper bag at lunch telling him that I urgently needed to see him, and I was sure he was thinking the worse.  
  
"Syd," he said as soon as I came into view. "What happened? Are you okay?"  
  
I nodded, brushing my hair back with my hand nervously. "Yeah, I'm fine. My house was broken into last night."  
  
"What?!" he exclaimed, a look of panic crossing his face. "Who was it? Was anyone hurt?"  
  
"No, no one was hurt.and I have no idea who it was," I said. "Francie and I were woken up by crashing sounds in the middle of the night and found the apartment ransacked. We don't think anything was taken, but-"  
  
"But what?" he asked desperately.  
  
"I went back into my room and found this on my dresser." I pulled the note out of my pocket and handed it to Vaughn, who read it silently. "The scary part is.whoever left this note was in my room while I was sleeping. And I have no idea what they were doing, what they wanted."  
  
He sighed. "Shit.this is getting scary, Syd."  
  
"I know," I said quietly, looking at the ground. "I.I have no idea what to do. I have no idea what the hell these people want. I'm starting to get desperate."  
  
We stood in silence for I don't know how long. Seconds? Minutes? Tears started to well up in my eyes, and I tried to swallow the lump forming in my throat as I spoke.  
  
"I.I, Vaughn, I just don't know what to do," I said, my voice quivering. "I mean, how long is this going to go on for? How far are these people going to take it? I mean, they're taking Francie's money, somehow.they're breaking into my house.and I don't even know what they want. I haven't even been given the chance to give them what they want, and I.I just don't know what to do."  
  
As hard as I tried, I couldn't stop the tears from falling. I stared at the cold cement floor as tears rolled down my face and fell silently to the ground. I didn't want Vaughn to see me cry like this. I didn't want him to see me break.  
  
When I finally looked up, Vaughn was just staring at me, his eyes sad. He jammed his hands into his pockets, obviously uncomfortable, but his gaze never broke from mine.  
  
"Syd.I truly have no idea what to do. We can't tell the CIA; you can't tell SD-6. I don't know what we're supposed to do. Wait? I just don't know."  
  
The expression on his face almost brought me to tears again. He looked so sad, so desperate.I had never seen anyone care that much about me. I wanted to hug him, to reassure him that everything would be okay, the way he had reassured me so many times before. But I stood, motionless, just staring at him.  
  
Vaughn looked up at me and I shifted my gaze quickly, embarrassed that I had been staring at him for so long. "I should go.Francie will wonder where I am." He nodded.  
  
"You don't want to worry her by being gone too long." I nodded. "But.if you need anything, tonight, tomorrow, whenever, you know where to reach me." A slight smile crossed my lips.  
  
"I'll see you soon," I said simply, and turned to walk away. I felt drained, physically, mentally, and emotionally. And now I had to go home and put on my façade for Francie and Will. I didn't know much longer I could take it.  
  
As I approached my car, parked down an empty alley, I noticed a large manila envelope on my windshield. I started to tremble again as I walked slowly to the car, expecting someone to jump out and grab me.  
  
Hands shaking, I removed the envelope and opened it slowly. A stack of photos sat inside: large 8x10s, black and white. The mission in Moscow, me with the CIA team, inside the building. The previous night, Francie and I huddled together in our destroyed apartment.  
  
A single photo of me, standing alone, holding the note that had been left on my dresser. 


	5. Chapter Five

Archive: Cover Me and my site, all else just let me know. :D AN: Thanks to Karen T for the beta. For some reason, the site is saying that I have more chapters than I do.if you're confused, this is number 5/8.  
  
Chapter Five  
  
"You, could never kill, what never dies, with your little lies."  
  
My footsteps echoed down the hall as I ran back into the warehouse, the envelope clutched in my hands. I sprinted back into the little room, back to Vaughn. He looked up from his briefcase as I entered the room, tears streaming down my face. I handed him the envelope wordlessly, and his expression turned to shock as he examined the pictures.  
  
"Was this on your car?" he asked, almost too calmly, as he flipped through the photos. I nodded.  
  
"God.this is bad. I mean, they know about Moscow.they must know we meet here," he whispered, his hands shaking. "Sydney, we need to do something."  
  
"What can we do, Vaughn?" I asked, my voice rising in desperation. "Are we supposed to flee, let them win? I can't do that."  
  
"Let them win?" Vaughn said incredulously. "Syd, we have no idea who the hell is doing this, or what they want. For all we know, they win when you and I are left for dead in a ditch somewhere. Is that what you want?"  
  
"Jesus, Vaughn, of course it's not!" As much as it hurt to hear it, I knew he was right. I knew there was a good chance that these people weren't out for intel, but for blood. "I just.I just can't accept that I might have to give up my entire life, everything I love, because of this. I didn't want any of this. I didn't choose this."  
  
"Neither did I, Sydney," Vaughn said softly, looking at the floor.  
  
God. How could I do this to him? I was upset because I chose to be a double agent, chose to live this life, and it caught up to me. Vaughn.he took a desk job at the CIA, and because of me, could end up dead.  
  
"Vaughn.I'm so sorry," I whispered, unable to look at him, to meet his eyes. "I.I wish I could fix this for you. You shouldn't have to give up anything for me. This shouldn't involve you at all."  
  
I closed my eyes hard, trying once again to keep the tears from falling to the floor.  
  
"Vaughn.it's not too late to walk away from me. You're right, you didn't choose this. And I couldn't deal with you being dead because of me."  
  
I stood like that, unmoving, my eyes closed, for what felt like an eternity.I was afraid to open my eyes. Afraid that when I did, Vaughn would be gone. And I knew that I deserved that.I didn't deserve for him to be there for me.  
  
Unable to hold it in any longer, I let myself cry. I allowed the tears to run down my face. Allowed myself to be upset.  
  
After a moment, I felt a hand against my cheek, wiping the tears away. I opened my eyes and saw Vaughn standing in front of me, his hands cradling my face. I could feel his breath against my skin as his thumbs brushed my tears away, could see the fear and anger and sympathy and determination that filled his eyes.  
  
"I didn't choose this, Sydney," he whispered, "but I chose you. There have been a thousand times that I could have walked out as your handler, or as your friend. But I didn't. And I would let myself be killed before I would let you deal with this alone."  
  
"Thank you," I said simply, my voice trembling.  
  
After a couple of minutes, my tears begin to subside, and the reality of the situation hit me again. The reality that someone knew who I was, what I was doing, and was quite possibly ready to kill me because of it.  
  
The reality that Vaughn's hands were on my face, that he was about 3 inches away from me, that those intense eyes were focused on mine. I cleared my throat, and tried to compose myself emotionally. "I should go home sometime.make sure that everything's okay. That my house hasn't been torched down." A bad attempt at humor.  
  
Vaughn nodded, and took his hands from my face, almost reluctantly. "Sydney.as much as we'd both like to avoid it, we're going to have to figure out what to do." I nodded.  
  
"Okay.go ahead home, make sure everything's alright, that Francie and Will are okay. We're going to need to meet tonight.but somebody obviously knows that we meet here."  
  
"One of us was probably followed here," I offered.  
  
He nodded. "Neither of us can just get in our cars and meet somewhere. That's too much of a risk."  
  
After a minute of thought, Vaughn had a plan. "Okay, here's what we'll do. There's a convenience store about a half-mile from your home, on 2nd and Federal. I'll have Weiss leave a car there for you.you'll have to get out of your house and to the car completely unnoticed."  
  
"You're going to tell Weiss?" I questioned. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."  
  
"Sydney, we don't have a choice," he said. "He's the only person I remotely trust, and we need the help."  
  
I sighed. I knew he was right. I only hoped we could really trust him.  
  
"I'll have him leave the keys under the floormat.you won't be able to miss which car it is. Head up to the north side of town, to 56th Street. There's a safehouse off of 56th.it's 803 South Downing. Meet me there at 3am, and we'll try to figure out something. All right?"  
  
I nodded. "803 South Downing, 3 am. Got it."  
  
"Be careful, Sydney. I'll see you in a few hours."  
  
It was after seven by the time I got home, and twilight was already settling across the sky. I noticed Will's car parked out on the street; oddly, Francie's was nowhere to be found.  
  
"Hello?" I called out as I opened the front door. "Fran, Will? You guys here?"  
  
"In the kitchen," a dejected-sounding Will replied. I cautiously stepped into the room to find Francie and Will sitting around the table, each with a beer in hand. Francie looked exhausted, and Will's eyes were swollen and red.  
  
"What's going on?" I asked warily. Definitely not a happy scene.  
  
"Will got fired, and my car was stolen," Francie replied bitterly, not bothering to look up from her bottle.  
  
My legs threatened to give out underneath me as I struggled to keep my composure. "Oh my God. What happened?"  
  
"I have absolutely no idea," Will said, sounding completely baffled. "My morning was completely normal. Completely. When I got back from lunch, I was told to clean out my desk."  
  
"Oh my God," I whispered. "Will, I am so sorry."  
  
"So am I-I mean, they wouldn't give me an explanation, anything. They even escorted me out of the building. I have no idea what I did."  
  
Shit. This was definitely not a coincidence.  
  
"And I have no idea what happened to my car," Francie jumped in. "I went into the grocery store, came out ten minutes later, and it was gone. I know I locked it.I have no idea how they took it. I called the police, and they said they'd look for it.but, I don't know. My money, then the break- in, then this? Something's going on." She shook her head and took another sip. "Someone has it out for me."  
  
We sat in silence for almost fifteen minutes, staring into space, thinking. My mind was racing, trying to piece together the pieces of this ridiculous puzzle. I was missing something.I just had no idea what. I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing, what these people wanted from me.  
  
After he finished his beer, Will stood up. "I think I'm going to go home and crash," he said sadly. "Start looking for another job tomorrow, or something.I have no idea what I'm going to do."  
  
I walked around the table to give Will a hug, wrapping my arms tightly around him. "It'll all be okay," I whispered, wishing I could convince myself.  
  
"I hope so, Syd," he said, and I looked up to see his eyes glistening with tears. I thought my heart was going to break.Will simply doesn't cry.  
  
After he left, I went into my room, telling Francie that I needed to lie down. The minute I turned on my bedside lamp, I saw it-a folded piece of paper resting neatly on my pillow.  
  
They had been in my home. In my room. Again. I fought to keep my stomach from leaping out of my throat as I grabbed the note, hesitantly unfolding the crisp, white sheet.  
  
Stop what you are doing. Do you now see what we are capable of? Everything you cherish, everyone you love, is at stake. Stop now, before it gets worse.  
  
A small cry escaped my lips. Shit. I crumbled up the paper and threw it angrily across the room. I needed to do something, anything. These people were ruining my life. They were breaking into my home, taking pictures of me. Stealing Francie's car, and money.getting Will fired. What was next?  
  
I looked at my watch and sighed. Only 7:45. It was going to be a long evening.  
  
I spent the following six hours lying on my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, trying to figure out what I needed to do. What they wanted from me. Was it the fact that I was in SD-6? That I was a double for the CIA? Did I unwittingly have some obscure Rambaldi artifact, or document, in my possession? Did someone still believe that it was I in the prophecy? I had no solid ideas, and only got angrier and angrier. Why me? Why in the world did I ever get involved in any of this?  
  
A little before 2 am, it was finally time to go. Without so much as turning on a lamp-I couldn't risk being seen-I changed my clothes, opting for all black. I removed the screen from my window and climbed out silently, flinching at the coolness of the night air.  
  
I made it to the convenience store in about 15 minutes, and was certain I hadn't been seen. I had climbed across fences, run through backyards, hidden in bushes. Along the way, I realized I hadn't even bothered to bring a gun.stupid mistake, I chided myself.  
  
As I crept silently into the parking lot, I saw my car.Vaughn was right. It was obvious which one it was. A nondescript black Accord, parked a safe distance away from the few cars that scattered the lot. Glancing around quickly, I opened the driver's side door.unlocked. Reached under the floor mat.key, right where it belonged. I sighed in relief, locked the doors, and started the ignition.  
  
I made it to the safehouse about 35 minutes later, after circling the block countless times and pulling over twice when I thought I was being followed.both times, a false alarm. Parking the car across the street, I crept up to the door, not sure how I was going to get in.  
  
As I reached the top step, the door swung open. I gasped, but saw Vaughn's face peering out of the darkness. "It's me," he whispered, and I hurried in, Vaughn latching the door behind me.  
  
"You make it here safely?" I asked as I followed him further into the house.of course, we couldn't turn any lights on.  
  
"Yeah, no problems," he replied, and we stopped in what looked to be the living room. With the blinds shut, the only light in the room filtered through the small slats, casting narrow beams of light across Vaughn's face and scattering across the rest of the room.  
  
"Francie's car was stolen, and Will lost his job," I told him, watching as his expression turned to dismay. We were standing so close to each other- barely twelve inches-that even in the darkness, I could every wrinkle that creased his forehead at this news. "And I got another note. In my room."  
  
"What did it say?" he asked, an unmistakable tone of urgency in his voice.  
  
I reached into my pocked and removed a crumbled piece of paper.I had decided that Vaughn would probably want to see it. Plus, it wouldn't have been a very good idea to leave it lying around for Francie to find.  
  
I unfolded the paper and read it out loud to Vaughn.  
  
"I think I need to take some time off from SD-6," I told Vaughn, after he had processed the note. " I just.I have no idea what to do. I'm at my wit's end. I just think that, maybe if I take some time off from all of this, it will become clear to me what these people want."  
  
Vaughn nodded. "That's a reasonable idea.it's about the only idea we've got right now. It might work."  
  
I shook my head. "I just don't have the slightest concept of what these people want!" I exclaimed, my voice still at a whisper. "And.it just scares the hell out of me, what they are capable of." I started to speed up, talking faster as I became more desperate. "I can't accept the fact that someone wants to kill me for something that I am doing that is not wrong. If I had known when SD-6 recruited me that I wasn't working for the CIA, I would have never done it, and I kick myself every day that I did something that fucked up my life so badly. And now, all I want is to have a normal life, to be able to have a job and friends and a family without being afraid that I'm going to be killed every time I go on some mission. And now, I don't know if the next time I see someone if it will be the last.if one day I'll come home to find Francie and Will sitting dead at the kitchen table, find my dad killed in his apartment. And I can't accept that."  
  
My pulse racing, I looked up at Vaughn, standing a foot away from me, the moonlight casting an eerie glow across his features. I looked directly into his eyes.  
  
"And I can't accept the fact that one of our meetings might be the last, that I might never see you again. I can't accept that."  
  
At that point, I'm not sure if I was completely insane, or if it was the first time in a long time that I was thinking clearly. But I stepped forward, pressed my lips to his, and kissed him.  
  
Every emotion I had repressed for so long came rushing to the surface, and all I knew was that I desperately needed Vaughn. I'm not sure if he was completely surprised, or if he knew what I was about to do, but he kissed me back. And I have never needed someone so badly in my life. We were in the middle of a CIA safehouse, both of us so close to being killed, but I wasn't alone.  
  
Vaughn's voice broke the silence, snapped me out of the trance. He stepped back, pushed me away slightly, and shook his head.  
  
"We can't do this, Sydney. I won't." 


	6. Chapter Six

What Never Dies, chapter 6/8  
  
Disclaimer: Alias and all related characters, etc. are the property of ABC, JJ Abrams, Bad Robot, et. al. I don't own them, nor do I profit from this in any way. AN: Two chapters to go after this.looks like it's going to be finished after all! Thanks to all my readers for your feedback and patience, it means the world to me. Archive at Cover Me, anyone else just drop me a line so I can visit.  
  
Chapter Six  
  
"Fools think they control some people's lives  
  
With their little lies. They're wrong."  
  
I looked at Vaughn in shock as he pushed me away, his eyes quickly averting from mine. I felt angry, hurt, betrayed, confused, overwhelmed-I had no idea what had happened, what I had done. What I had ruined.  
  
"I'm sorry, Vaughn.I don't know what I'm doing. I'm sorry," I mumbled, staring at my feet. God, I just felt humiliated.I kissed him, and he pushed me away. How could I ever look at him again?  
  
"It's just." I sighed desperately, trying to find the words to explain myself. "It's just, I have no idea what's going to happen to me, to you, if this could be the last time I ever see you, and.actually, I have no idea why the hell I did it, why I thought I should."  
  
"Sydney." I looked up, expecting Vaughn to look anything but sympathetic, caring. Yet, somehow, he did. "It's not that I don't want this.it's just not the right time. This isn't how I want it to be. This isn't how it should be."  
  
" I know," I sighed. "I don't want it to be like this, either."  
  
Vaughn looked into my eyes and smiled knowingly. "Someday, Syd. You still owe me a hockey game."  
  
I grinned broadly, as relief flooded through me. He wasn't really pushing me away. And I felt like I had something, small as it was, to fight for.  
  
After a minute, Vaughn broke the silence. "We still need to figure out how to solve this.situation. Do you think taking time off from SD-6 is the answer?"  
  
I nodded. "It's the only shot we have right now. I just feel like I need to lie low for awhile."  
  
"Well, let's hope it works," Vaughn said softly. We both knew it was our only shot.  
  
As we slipped silently out of the safehouse, into the darkness, Vaughn reached up and rubbed my shoulder comfortingly.  
  
"This will work," he whispered. "It will." But through the darkness, I could see the doubt that clouded his eyes.  
  
My meeting with Sloane went surprisingly well-I simply went into his office the next morning, my stomach churning, and told him that I needed some personal time. A slight smile crept across his face as I told him that I needed time to focus on school, my friends, my life-three weeks, tops. And he nodded, agreed with me, said that he could see that the stress ("of everything") was affecting me, and that time away from work was, most likely, exactly what I needed. And as I stood to leave, he hugged me, in an oddly paternal sort of way, and told me that he looked forward to seeing me back in the office. And as I left SD-6, stepped out into the warm sunshine, I felt for the first time in weeks like I was in control.  
  
However, any feelings of confidence I had disappeared as soon as I walked in my front door. It was 11:30 in the morning, and Francie and Will were sitting in front of the TV, each with a beer in hand. My stomach lurched, as I realized that it was I who had done this-reduced my friends to this.  
  
What the hell am I doing? I thought as I sank weakly into a kitchen chair, ignoring Francie's concerned stare. Do I really expect this situation to disappear overnight? Do I really think that all the blackmailer wanted was for me to leave SD-6? I have to do something-I have to tell the CIA what's going on. Tell Sloane.  
  
Or maybe I should flee. Get the hell out of LA. Tell Francie and Will that none of this is coincidence, that they're likely to be killed at any minute, and leave.  
  
How am I supposed to figure this out on my own?  
  
At that minute, the phone rang. Without thinking, I reached over and grabbed the receiver, answering with a detached hello.  
  
"Joey's Pizza?" said the voice, and I recognized it immediately-Vaughn.  
  
"I'm sorry, you have the wrong number," I said softly. I was almost overjoyed to hear his voice on the other end. It reminded me that I wasn't alone.  
  
"I'm terribly sorry," he said, not missing a beat. "I did the same exact thing last night, didn't I? I'm terribly sorry."  
  
And he hung up. I sat puzzled for a minute, then it clicked. Same thing as last night.  
  
And it was exactly as I thought it to be-same car, same parking lot. The drive seemed to take mere seconds, and before I knew it, I was walking up the same stairs, being let into the house by Vaughn. We walked back to the same room, and turned to face each other once again.  
  
"How did it go with Sloane?" he asked in a whisper, looking over his shoulder at the window. Same moonlight filtering through the same blinds.  
  
"Good," I answered. "He didn't question it at all, and now I've, at the very least, bought some time. If this isn't what the blackmailers want, at least we have some time to try to figure this all out."  
  
Vaughn nodded. "Well, all we can do for now is lie low, and pray that this all stops. But, if it doesn't-"  
  
At that moment, the room exploded. With a deafening bang, the window behind Vaughn shattered, sending shards of glass flying across the room. Vaughn and I flung ourselves to the ground, covering our faces against the shower of glass.  
  
As quickly as it happened, it stopped. Silence once again filled the room, and, aside from the glass covering the ground, the only difference was the moonlight now pouring through the open window.  
  
"Are you okay?" Vaughn asked urgently, uncovering his face and rising gingerly to his knees. I nodded. "Thank God neither of us were hit-"  
  
Another bang filled the air, and this time it happened in slow motion. Vaughn was jerked forward, and I saw a blossom of red appear on the front of his shirt.  
  
"Oh God!" I screamed as he crumpled forward, the disgusting spot of blood on his chest increasing at an unnaturally rapid pace. Without thinking, I raced to the open window, searching desperately for someone, anything. There was no one there.  
  
"Oh God, Vaughn," I cried as I returned to his crumpled figure, frantically searching his neck with my fingertips-a weak pulse. My heart threatening to leap out of my chest, I grabbed my cell phone from my coat pocket and called Devlin.  
  
It was the longest eight minutes of my life as I waited for the CIA to arrive. I sat next to Vaughn, my hands pressed against the hole in his chest, sobbing softly, praying that he would live. Survive a bullet through his chest, a bullet that was much too close to his heart. My mind flashed back to the time with Dixon, the same sickeningly sticky blood against my fingers, and I tried to convince myself that if he could survive, so could Vaughn.  
  
Key turning in the ignition, engine roaring to life; in an instant I was gone, tearing away from the safehouse, from Vaughn lying on the floor, dying. The CIA agents had arrived within minutes, and as they clustered around his seemingly lifeless body, I knew what I must do. With one fleeting glance, I turned away; I knew that there was absolutely nothing I could do for him.  
  
As I threw the car into gear, going faster, faster, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed. My father answered after three rings, his standard, curt greeting.  
  
"Vaughn's been shot," I blurted out. "Dad, they shot him right in front of me, and I don't know if he's dead, I don't know what to do." A sob threatened to rack my body as I willed myself to focus, willed myself to just drive.  
  
"Oh God," he said weakly. Then, after a moment, he turned into his professional mode. "You need to leave, Sydney. You need to go." I could tell that my normally emotionless, automatic father was threatening to break.  
  
"I know, Dad, but I don't have anywhere to go-"  
  
He cut me off. "I'll work it out, Sydney. Just get to the airport, and-"  
  
"But, Will and Francie, Dad, I can't leave them, they'll be killed." My throat threatened to close, and I urged myself on. Faster. Faster.  
  
He didn't miss a beat. "Call Will and Francie, and tell them that they're in danger. A team will go pick them up, take them into hiding. You need to get to the airport right away. Do you have your CIA passport with you?"  
  
I nodded (even though I was on the phone), and the tears began to pool in my eyes, clouding my vision. "Dad-Vaughn-" was all I could choke out.  
  
I could hear my dad sigh. "Sydney, he'll be okay. Right now, you need to worry about getting to safety. Use your CIA alias, and get a flight to London, where a CIA team will meet you. I'll be in touch once you get there."  
  
"Dad, thank you," I said. What else could I possibly say to him?  
  
"I love you, Sydney. Be careful."  
  
And he hung up. 


	7. Chapter Seven

AN: Well, any canon this is based on has been shot to hell, so I'm just having fun at this point! Basically, this is good, old-fashioned season one AU.  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
"Some don't want to see you win, Some don't want to see you fly."  
  
"We will be arriving in Tokyo in thirty-two minutes, local time 6:13 pm," came the voice of the flight attendant over the PA system, speaking in Japanese-the beauty of understanding the language. I shifted uneasily in my seat, just wanting to be on the ground, wanting to find some sort of safety.  
  
The last several hours had been pure hell-after Vaughn was shot, I called Will and Francie, made sure they would get to safety, and got on the first plane out of LA, using one of my CIA aliases-I believe it was Alicia Bennett this time. I'm not exactly sure what I was hoping, or expecting, to find in Tokyo-safety? Sanctuary? A magical end to this "situation"? Most of the ridiculously long flight was spent sorting through every event, every person, from my recent life-the missing key. The person who was looking to exact some sort of revenge upon me.  
  
The plane landed, and I made my way through the crowded airport, headed toward my rendezvous point with the CIA team. As I made my way through the throngs of people, the back of my neck bristled-I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching me. 'Knock it off, Syd,' I told myself, 'no one could know you're here. You're finally safe.'  
  
I made my way out of the crowded airport, and headed down one of the busy streets of downtown Tokyo. I found it odd that the CIA wouldn't have the team meet me at the airport, but I shook it off, knowing that we needed to be as discreet as possible. The directions I had been given were easy to follow; after about fifteen minutes, I came to the alley that was our rendezvous point. It was completely silent.  
  
"Hello?" I called out, stepping hesitantly down the deserted street. The heels of my shoes echoed through the dark. Step after step, I made my way deeper into the alley, and what I finally found made my blood run cold.  
  
The entire CIA team, dead. Four men, each shot in the head from what looked to be point-blank range. I stifled back a sob, as I turned out of the alley and began to run. They knew I was here, they had followed me, predicted my steps. And now, I was completely alone in Tokyo, with virtually no way to defend myself. Look at what they had done to me when I was home-how could I even hope to stand a chance here? Where could I go?  
  
The busy street came back into view as I ran out of the alley; only steps away from the street, and people, and some, absolutely, minute semblance of safety, my phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket as I ran, answering it as I finally reached the street. Near-hysterical, but part of a crowd-they wouldn't dare try something in the middle of a bustling street, would they?  
  
"Sydney." It was my father, and by the tone of his voice, it was clear that he didn't bring good news.  
  
"Dad, they're dead," I said, forcing back the tears that threatened to spring in my eyes. "The CIA team, they're dead-"  
  
"I know," he cut me off. "We suddenly lost contact with them about 15 minutes ago, and assumed the worst. You need to try to get somewhere unnoticed-a hotel, anywhere you can remain safe until I can meet you."  
  
"I don't know if I can get anywhere-they're obviously still following me!" I cried. "And, Dad, you're coming here-why?"  
  
"You need to try, Sydney, it's the best you can do," he said, sounding resigned. "And yes, I'm meeting you out there-I have no way of knowing how much danger I'm in here, so I'll be joining the new team the CIA is sending. It's the best we can do right now."  
  
I sighed. "Dad, how is Vaughn? And Will and Francie?" My eyes darted around as I scanned the crowd, searching for a suspicious face among the throngs of people.  
  
"Vaughn isn't dead," he replied. I breathed a sigh of relief. "He's in surgery right now, but he should make it. Will and Francie are safe, they're out of the country, and in no immediate danger."  
  
"Oh, thank God," I said. "Dad-do you think this could possibly turn out alright?"  
  
He was silent for a moment. "I hope so," he said.  
  
And before either of us could say another word, the silence on his end of the phone was interrupted-shattered. What was unmistakably a gunshot. I screamed, and almost dropped my phone. I pressed the phone to my ear, praying, begging, to hear my dad's voice-but after minutes of agonizing silence, I threw my phone down on the pavement, and started running.  
  
In my panic, I ran to the first place that came to mind-a hotel. My dad was right, I had no other option. I fought, forced myself, to keep my composure as I booked a room in broken Japanese. However, as soon as the door clicked shut, as soon as I was alone, I completely lost it.  
  
I sobbed. I screamed. I kicked in every piece of furniture in that God- forsaken room, shattered the lamps into the wall as hard as I possibly could. Images of Vaughn, shot through the chest, and my father-I had no idea what had happened to him, and I could only see him as I had seen the CIA agents-as I had seen Danny. My life stolen, shattered, destroyed.  
  
"Why?!" I screamed into the darkness, yelling at nobody; everybody. "What more can you take from me?" I kicked the mirror hanging onto the wall; it exploded into shards of silvery glass, slicing my skin.  
  
I looked up at the ceiling, my hand balled into fists; clenched, pressed into my forehead, seeking release, solace, anything. I could no longer control myself, could no longer compartmentalize; all I knew was the rage boiling inside my veins, threatening to destroy me.  
  
"I give up!" I screamed, tears once again pouring down my face. "You win, I give up! You have taken everything from me, and I just can't fight anymore, so just take me!"  
  
I punched my fist into the wall, feeling my bone splinter with the drywall. "I give up!!" I shrieked into the darkness. Silence fell upon the room.  
  
Then a knock sounded on the door, only inches from where I stood. I froze. Then, in my panic, and sheer stupidity, I stepped over and opened the door, having complete faith that whoever was on the other side was there to save me. 


	8. Chapter Eight

(author's notes at end)  
  
Chapter Eight  
  
"Some don't want to see you live.  
  
They just want to see you."  
  
The person on the other side of the door was far from a savior. Before the fist that crashed into my head thrust me into darkness, I saw the smirking face of Arvin Sloane.  
  
Blinding pain. That is the only sensation that could describe the feeling as I opened my eyes, as the white brightness flooded my pupils, my brain.  
  
As I slowly regained consciousness, I looked around, taking stock of my situation. Wrists and ankles bound to a metal chair, in an empty room. Shit. This was it. This was the showdown that had been looming, unavoidable, upon me.  
  
The door at the other end of the small room swung open, and in stepped Sloane. The door was closed again.  
  
"Aah, Sydney," he said in a cold, hate-filled voice, a smile spreading across his face as he stepped nearer to me. "How long I've been waiting for this. The chance for us to truly speak the truth to each other." He ran his hand across my face and, abruptly, twisted my jaw to one side. It splintered in a moment of agonizing pain.  
  
"Sydney Bristow," he said, stepping back and looking me in the eyes. I closed them to his gaze, forcing myself to steel, to strengthen-I had been tortured before, and survived. I could survive this.  
  
"How much you've betrayed me," he said as I opened my eyes again. "I know everything that you've done. Working for the CIA-you and your father. Thinking you could outwit me. How wrong you were."  
  
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a series of pictures. "Your father. A man I thought loyal to me, a man who thought he could betray me. He got what he deserved." He thrust the first photograph into my face-my dad, shot through the head, blood and brain pouring from the open wound. A sob escaped my mangled jaw.  
  
"Michael Vaughn, your CIA contact. Yes, he survived his gunshot, but he is dead." Another black-and-white, this time Vaughn, also with a bullet through the head, lying in a ditch. "It was only too easy to finish off the job-the CIA does do a poor job with hospital security," Sloane continued. "And your friends, Francine Calfo and Will Tippin." The last picture, Francie and Will, their bodies mangled almost past recognition.  
  
"You see, this is what happens when you cross me, Sydney," Sloane said, smiling at the look of complete defeat on my face. "I thought Danny would be enough of a warning, but, clearly, you thought yourself stronger than me. You were sadly mistaken."  
  
Sloane approached me again; this time, he grabbed my right index finger and pulled up, sending searing pain shooting through my body once again.  
  
"I know everything you have done," he whispered, putting his face inches from mine. "Every meeting, every betrayal, everything. You were like a daughter to me, Sydney." He ran his hand along my face once again, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. "You were like a daughter, and you did this to me. I knew it wouldn't be enough to simply kill you, Sydney. What kind of lesson would that be?" He stepped back again, and surveyed me with a grin. "I knew I had to make you pay. And how much I've enjoyed watching you suffer, Sydney-knowing that someone was watching you, that someone was following your every move. And when that didn't work, when that didn't keep you from your little CIA game, I hit you where it would hurt most."  
  
"Think about it, Sydney. Your father is dead. Michael Vaughn is dead. Francie and Will are dead. An entire team of CIA agents is dead. All because of you."  
  
Stay strong, I told myself, trying to keep from falling into complete panic. Keep fighting.  
  
"You're the one who deserves to pay, Sloane," I spat out, struggling to speak through my twisted jaw. "You lied to me, lied to innocent people, told me that I was working for my country, when it was all for your sick game. You deserve the suffering."  
  
Sloane chuckled, pacing back and forth in front of me. "Aah, that's where you're mistaken, Sydney. One thing you failed to learn was just how powerful I am. You thought you could best me? Not a chance."  
  
Think, I willed myself, think. Keep him talking, think of a way out, and buy yourself some time. They will find you-they have to. It always has a happy ending.  
  
Sloane reached into his pocket again, but this time pulled out a gun. Shit. Oh, shit. My mind raced. Keep him talking, I thought; anything you can do to buy time.  
  
"I waited for you to give up, Sydney," he said softly, running his hand back and forth along the barrel. "I might have let you live. I might have let you run."  
  
He approached me once again, and I began to shake uncontrollably as his face neared mine. Don't give in, I told myself, willing the tremors to stop. Don't give him the pleasure of seeing you scared.  
  
Once again, a smirk spread across his face as he forced the barrel of the gun into my mouth. My eyes filled with tears, and my stomach threatened to vomit as I tasted the cold, bitter metal in my mouth. This couldn't be it. This isn't how Sydney Bristow was supposed to die-mangled and helpless.  
  
"No such luck, Sydney," Sloane said, almost as if he were reading my mind. "No happy ending this time."  
  
With this, he pulled the trigger.  
  
Well, it's over. What started out as a simple idea grew into something I never imagined it would become-this is the first story I've posted, and it is definitely my baby. Although it took much longer than it should have- almost to the point of ridiculousness-I don't regret anything I've done, and I'm happy that I took the time to edit, and re-edit, and pray, and agonize, and make it mine. Thank you to everyone I've encountered along the way.everyone at Fanforum, SD-1, the diary crowd, everyone who's taken the time to read this. Much thanks for reading it, for sticking with me, and providing endless encouragement. Special thanks to everyone who's beta- d for me, especially Karen T.your help was amazing.  
  
I don't really know what else there is to say.in many ways, this is sad for me, because I loved writing this. But, in so many more ways, I'm so thankful that this beast isn't looming over me anymore! Writing and posting this is one of the scariest things I've done.and now I'm ready to move on, write more stories, and take more risks.  
  
(Feedback is loved, as always.let me know what you thought. And, if you were curious, the ending of this has been planned/outlined since August, and any resemblance to canon are just coincidence. Crazy, huh?) 


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